Death To The Living
‘Does the pain weigh out the pride?
And you look for a place to hide?
Did someone break your heart inside, you're in ruins…’
It was a beautiful funeral, talk about a contradiction in terms, she smiled and shook her head slightly, a beautiful funeral, no such thing. What was so beautiful about being fixed into a pose, painted and prodded, made to look all pretty so they could shove you in a pine box and dump ya six feet under.
Nothing pretty about it, nothing glorious about death, nothing sanctimonious or redeeming about, nothing to feel proud about, nothing to say its beautiful. She knew, she’d felt it, she’d died.
And there was nothing, no glorious light; end of the tunnel and it was just that, a dead end, just a grey dead end. Least that’s what it was for her, but this, this was beyond a spectacle, not a funeral, but a fucked-up display of false emotion, a pathetic circus, where everyone wore a painted mask and nothing was what it seemed.
She heard the news ‘copter buzzing overhead, the lens of a television camera relaying everything to millions around the world, satisfying their morbid curiosity, thousands of millions around the world glued to their television spectacle, sharing in a false outpouring of sycophantic emotion, caught up in a tide of injustice and spoon-fed sorrow as they mourned the death of Evelyn Woodhouse-Browne and her son.
Only the pine boxes were empty, a handful of people including herself knew that, just expensive boxes of dirt being lowered into more dirt. Nothing, there was nothing there, it really was a sickening spectacle, but they needed someone to blame, someone like her, a mutant, an evil, immoral mutant. That made it easier, better for them, left them in their hate, absolved them…‘cause who needed the guilt right?
And it worked wonders for him as well, Senator Woodhouse-Browne, nothing had propelled his popularity like the grief he wore so perfectly. Senator Woodhouse-Browne heading for the big ol’ White House they said, poor, devastated, broken Senator, the death of his wife and son had just about broken him. Almost broken him, but not quite, no he held onto his quiet dignity, it became him they said, in the face of such adversity it marked the qualities of a true leader, they said.
It started to rain then, softly at first, gentle drops of water that turned into a steady downpour. She stared up at the sky, it was grey, it was all so grey, her hair drenched by the rain stuck to her face and she pushed the strands away with the back of her tired hand. How ironic, seemed even the heavens were opening up, lending their own dramatic print to this sick spectacle.
So grey…it was all so grey. Staring back at the congregation she watched as the umbrellas went up, the various shades of black pressed together, sniffling, pressing hankies to their perfectly made up faces, making sure the various camera crews parked around the cemetery with cameras rolling got only their best side.
The empty coffins were being covered now, she saw the Senator step forward, clasping a handful of moist soil, leaning over she watched him throw the clump of dirt of his late wife’s supposed grave. For his supposedly dead son he had a small stuffed toy bear, and with what proved a flawless performance she saw him kneel by the grave, a very public breakdown as he wept openly and placed the toy on his young son’s coffin.
Almost on cue cameras’ flashed, lenses zoomed in, nations around the world held their breath, the perfect moment, the precise image of grief captured, encapsulated and beamed through television sets, computers, newspapers, in a hundred different cities, in a hundred languages, the world united at last against the common enemy.
If there had ever been any doubt, surely it could not stand against the image of a grieving father, the mutant race was a problem, a disease, a crime against humanity. The world had a common enemy, a cause worth fighting for; suddenly that faith was worth preserving.
…‘Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone
When it's time to live and let die
And you can't get another try
Something inside this heart has died, you're in ruins…’
He had performed so well she had even offered him a quiet round of applause, beautiful, so fuckin’ beautiful, simply a beautiful funeral. Maybe that’s what they meant; either way the whole was filled with such delicious irony it left one helluva bitter aftertaste.
She watched him shake hands with the departing congregation, accepting long hugs and quick pats on the back, she found herself agreeing with most of them, yes, job very well done Senator.
She waited until he had climbed into the back of his black limousine before she pressed her eyes to the scope, adjusting the sight slightly, her fingers stroking the trigger gently, smiling softly.
Reaching for the phone in her pocket she dialled quickly, and pressed it to her ear as kept the Senator in her sights, watching as he settled in beside his assistant and answered his cell phone.
‘Hello?’ The quipped accent, culture and breeding, a well educated demon.
‘Hello Senator…,’ her own voice drifted down the line, the proud Southern accent, educated in its own way, a demon of different sorts.
‘That was quite a performance today…Oscar worthy really, truly inspiring, honestly there were tears.’ She laughed, ‘are ya sure ya wanna be a politician Senator, ‘cause ah’m thinkin’ ya could make a helluva career as an actor, but ah guess it’s one and the same right?’
‘Who the hell is this?’ The Senator voice demanded, ever one to take charge, always demanding, never asking.
She gritted her teeth, ‘Your worst nightmare Senator if ah have to be,’ she smiled then, ‘Gloria should have the details, but be gentle with her she’s had a rough night.’
She watched as the Senator turned to the woman sat next to him, his personal assistant, the woman was resting back against the car seat, oversized dark sunglasses covering most of her face, in her lap a camera with a note attached, ‘watch me.’
He reached over, nudging Gloria slightly, no response, she watched his face, the changing expressions. First confusion, and then the slightest fear, before horror and realisation set in. She loved it, gave her a warm tingly feeling inside. She watched the Senator take hold of Gloria’s shoulder firmly, shaking her and saw his mouth falling open in horror as Gloria fell sideways and into his lap.
Of course she had waited until the gun salute to take her shot, the roar of bullets would mask the sound of Gloria’s death. He’d seen her hurrying off during the service, and she’d been looking queasy most of that morning. Gloria had disappeared the night before citing a meeting with an old friend, had she sealed her fate then?
‘Did ya know Senator bullet-proof glass has a tensile strength of almost a thousand pounds per square inch, nothin’ much can shake that, ‘cept of course a M107 anti-material sniper rifle. A bullet from this baby going at Mach 3 will punch through just about anything.’ Her matter-of-fact voice was cold, unbearably clinical.
‘You’re long dead by the time ya hear the shot, so its goodnight Gloria.’
He all but screamed, pushing the dead woman away, seeing the penny sized hole punched to the left of her temple. Her sunglasses had fallen off; sightless, vacant eyes stared up at him as he scrambled backwards, ‘watch the movie Senator.’ Her voice, Southern demon drawled down the phone jolted him back, with trembling fingers he pressed play on the digital camera, his eyes fixed into a bug-like expression as he watched.
The film was dated, only a couple of days before, happy sounds, laughter filtered through the car as he watched and heard his supposedly dead wife and son playing in a park.
‘Such a pretty picture right…?’ She all but grinned, seeing the Senator on the back foot was fuckin’ beautiful, the perfect funeral…but not yet, he would get his, but not here and not now.
‘Ask me what I want Senator, make a bargain…’
She saw him try to sit up, gather some sort of composure clutching the phone like it was his last grasp on his sanity, ‘I won’t beg, not from you…you mutant bitch,’ His voice despite it all still dripped with hate, such a bitter, angry little man.
‘No…? Then won’t it just be somethin’ when this home movie ends up on primetime television? Ah’d love to see how ya explain this one Senator, even with all your pretty words. Or how about when ah get that contract ya signed with the Firm sent out to all the major networks, we’ll let the world see just what sort of a family man ya really are.’
A moment’s hesitation, ‘Ya can kiss the Presidency goodbye, kiss that cushy seat up on Capitol Hill goodbye.’ She laughed slightly, ‘kiss your anti-mutant legislation goodbye an’ all.’
She heard him sigh, ‘Alright…what do you want?’
‘Ah want ya to leave ‘em alone, no more sending ghosts after ‘em, no more contracts, forget they ever existed, Evelyn and the kid, leave ‘em buried out here for good. Think ya can do that Senator, think ya could let go?’
‘Is that it?’ He was abrupt, still watching the film, his face screwed up in a bitter scowl.
‘Is it worth your life Senator…was it worth Gloria’s?’ She heard him mumble a barely coherent ‘yes.’
She nodded to herself, ‘Good, then that’s all ah want.’ She watched him leaning back; saw him staring out of the bullet hole in the window to his right, where Gloria had once upon a time been sitting. He stared up at the church roof, peered intently and was sure he’d seen her, the two tone hair caught by the slightest breeze, the glint of sunshine reflecting off the scope of her gun.
‘Times are changing Senator, there’s a war coming…’ she whispered, and the phone still clasped tightly against his ear seemed to deliver a promise, ‘and one of these days ah’m gonna be comin’ for you.’
There was a war coming, and in any war there were casualties.
‘Something inside this heart has died, you're in ruins’
He’d made the mistake of asking her once, asking what it was like being healed by him. No better than being killed by him she’d instantly spat back. But then an hour and a half bottle of vodka later she’d relented. Sat down opposite him, offered him a glass and told him.
It was grey she’d said, like an old movie, where she’d seen everything, a wall of snapshots, memories, devoid of colour and beauty, just a wall of relentless pain. She’d seen everything, all that he was and had been, past and present and everything in between.
And it had been grey, a single pointed fucked-up epiphany that left her devastated, alone and bitter. Towards him and herself, so much so that sometimes she wondered if it was worth being saved at all. She’d hit the end of the road, and it was grey, all so fuckin’ grey.
What use being pulled back into life when that life was an even more of a convoluted mess. He’d made the mistake of asking, and she’d made the mistake of telling him.
Now staring down out the window, watching her make her way back to base, that holdall slung over her shoulders, he knew it was all but over for them. He knew she still carried the scars, from his claws, from his memories…from him. He’d saved her not knowing just what it meant, but now seeing it everyday in the way she looked at him, the way she looked up at him now.
They stared at each other the longest while, this distance between them, not feet but continents, and everything, all that they’d felt, and maybe still were feeling was lost in the distance, in the pain, in the tangled mess of memories neither of them wanted.
Angel and demon, one and the same, times were changing but for them too much had changed already.
She only moved away when she saw the red head slink up behind him and wrap her arms around his torso, he was still staring down at her from his window, even as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear.
Times sure were changing, but there were three lessons she knew every soul ought to learn, and learn them well.
‘Revenge, retribution, and recrimination,’ the three R’s. A war is coming and you have to learn if you want to survive.
‘When you're at the end of the road
And you lost all sense of control
And your thoughts have taken their toll
When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul
Your faith walks on broken glass and the hangover doesn't pass
Nothing's ever built to last, you're in ruins…’ -‘21 Guns’- Green Day
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/U: Another addition to the series, sorry it's been such a long time coming. This is from Marie's POV, next is Logan's. Story interspersed with Green Day and lyrics from their song '21 Guns.'